A Mother to Embarrass Me (11 page)

I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. The man I loved was kissing someone else. The man I planned to marry, the man I would have five children with, the man I would wear Elmo slippers for, was kissing someone else passionately in my driveway.

“They need to come up for air,” Mary said. She sounded a little disgusted. “Have you ever noticed how some people are? They could care less we are here on the porch staring our eyeballs out at them.”

“Let's not look anymore,” I said, and backed into the house. Mary followed behind and let me close the door. I fell against it and squeezed my eyes shut. There was a pain in my heart. A deep pain.

“Laura,” Mary said, and her word came out as a gasp. “Laura.” Then her eyes got big. Not big as saucers, like people say in books, but pretty darn close to that. “You like him,” she said. “You
like
Quinn Sumsion, don't you?”

“No,” I said. And it wasn't a lie. I loved Quinn Sumsion. I loved him.

“You do,” she said, her voice full of wonder. “And all along I thought it was Christian that you liked.”

I didn't have time to say anything, because right at that moment the bell rang.

“I'll get it. Should I let them in? How about if I tell them to go away?” Mary asked. “How about if I tell
her to
go away?”

I shook my head. “They've been invited,” I whispered. “Or at least
he
was. They must be allowed to enter.” I felt a bit noble, though there was still that awful pain in my chest.

“Well, fine.” She hurried to the door and opened it wide. “Downstairs to the theater,” she said, and her voice sounded a bit icy.

I had made my way to Mom's front office, where I glanced around the room and wiped at my eyes. At that moment I was filled with sorrow.

Mary came in behind me. “Laura,” she said.

“What?” My voice came out a squeak. How embarrassing.

“I've sent them to the theater,” she said. “You okay?”

I nodded.

We stood silent in Mom's office for a moment. I had to change the subject. “She hasn't done any sculpting in a long time,” I said when I trusted my voice. “She has one piece partway finished in her studio.”

“This party,” Mary said. She rested her hand on my shoulder. “Maybe it will make you feel better. Just don't look at the two of them. Hopefully they're way in the back. And maybe Christian will still come.”

“Maybe,” I said. But now I didn't care. In fact, I didn't even want to be at the party. Of course, I had to be, to make sure that the commercial was right. But I didn't
want
to be.

“Laura,” Dad called up from downstairs. “Game's about to begin.”

Mary gave me a tight hug. Her hair smelled sweet, like flower shampoo.

“We better go,” I said. “Mary, you're a great friend.”

“Of course I am,” she said. “Now remember, don't even look at those two.”

The party was loud with people talking and laughing. Everybody was trying to find a seat to watch the beginning of the game. Most had already dug into the food. I made a valiant effort to do what Mary said, not to look for Quinn and Rebecca, but my eyes seemed to have a mind of their own. I found them both right off. They had
snuggled up on the floor with a plate of food between them.

“Great,” I said.

“Don't look,” Mary said. She turned me away from the crowd. Now I faced my mother instead. Had she noticed that Quinn was cheating on me? If she did, I sure couldn't tell. A group of women stood near her. One said, “Jimmey, you were a beautiful model. These pictures of you are simply stunning.”

“Back in the olden days I had perky breasts,” Mom said. I spun away, realizing I wouldn't get comfort from my mother. Still, I heard Mom finish, “Thanks to sagging, these are now thirty-two longs.” I could imagine Mom pointing at her own bosoms, and I felt glad I had missed that part of the demonstration.

The whole group of women laughed and one of them said, “Ain't that the truth? Nursing and babies does it to you, huh?” The women laughed again.

“Heh, heh, heh,” I said, but the laugh was fake. I moved away from my mother, then avoided getting too close to my father. If Mom and her friends were talking about breasts and nursing and other horrible stuff, I didn't even want to know what my father was talking about. That old saying “What you don't know can't hurt you” seemed good advice.

A bunch of my friends, kids that had come to
my boy-girl party and a few others, had pulled up folding chairs at one side of the room. “Let's go sit with everybody,” I said to Mary.

She had heaped her plate with food. “We can share this stuff. You get us drinks.” I went off for sodas.

The announcer shouted out the kickoff, and the room exploded with cheers when the TV camera found LaVell Edwards standing on the sidelines, out of retirement to coach this one charity football game. Mary and I sat down with our friends.

While I watched the game, I worried only a little about my mother's commercial. Mostly I worried that there was no way I was going to be able to convince Quinn that he loved me and not Rebecca. I could see that.

The commercial started at halftime. “It's on,” someone said. And sure enough, there stood my mother in the outfit she had described: the Rocky Mountain Fitness Center outfit. The bright blue, spandex outfit. The bright blue, very tight, spandex outfit. I should never have worried about the towel. Mom had been right about that.

“Yeah, baby,” Dad shouted. Everyone laughed.

Everyone but me. At any other moment Dad's screech would have embarrassed me, but he didn't even stand a chance now.

What did it for me was that outfit. That
tighter-than-tight, bright blue, spandex, let-me-see-both-your-bosoms-and-very-pregnant-body outfit. I felt my face drain of all color. The tip of my nose actually felt cold.

I glanced around the room at all the people grinning as the longest commercial ever made was aired on television.

Mom
, I thought, looking back at our huge screen. My neck would hardly work.
Oh, Mom.

On the front of Mom's exercise outfit was a picture of a man trying to lift a huge barbell. The weights dragged downward and the bar arched in the middle as he strained to lift the extreme weight. The problem with it, though, was where the weights ended up. Each side of the barbell landed right on top of one of my mom's huge bosoms. Why, it looked like the the fitness center guy was straining a gut to lift my mother's breasts.

All the blood in my body now rushed to my face.

“Oh no,” Mom said, “would you look at that outfit. Why, it looks like—”

I jumped to my feet. “Don't say it, don't say it,” I hollered.

Everyone in the room turned to stare at me.

“Say what?” Mom said.

“Don't say anything about… about… your thirty-two longs.”

Mom looked back at the TV, her head tilted like maybe she didn't know what I meant.

“My thirty-two longs?”

“Your thingies and the barbells,” I shouted. “How could you do this to me, Mom? How? And for the whole wide world to see.”

It was then that I ran. Right past Quinn and Rebecca, whose arms were slung around each other. Right past my father and mother, who looked at me with wide eyes. Right past Christian, whose mouth hung open, practically resting on his chest. When had he come in? The whole group of people, more than seventy of them, watched me run from the theater, and they all appeared surprised. Without a doubt this was not an intelligent group of individuals. As I hurried from the room I heard Mom say, “I meant I sure did look pregnant. What in the world did she mean…” And then, thank goodness, I was out of hearing range.

My plan was to stay out in my little playhouse, hidden, until everyone left. Daddy had this place built for me when I was five, and even now I love it, though it's getting a bit small.

“Kyra,” I said, once I'd sneaked through my backyard so no one would see me. I hid behind trees till I came to the little gated house. I stepped over the knee-high fence and, ducking, went inside. “Kyra, hurry on here.”

I sat on a bed that ran the length of one wall. Things smelled musty. How long had it been since I'd played here? More than a year?

“Your mother, Kyra,” I said, looking around the room, “is a crazy. And your father is just as bad. They do goofball sorts of things and wear goofball clothes. They're both goofballs.” I
wanted to cry, felt I needed to cry, that I
must
cry, but there were no tears.

So instead, I imagined Kyra, small like I had been, toddling around this room, maybe going to sit at the table that still held a china tea set. Kyra looked like I had, the same blond hair, the same big green eyes. In my imagination she sounded like me too.

“They
are
goofballs,” she said.

“I'll do my best to protect you from it,” I said. “I'll take care of you and we'll come out here when they start acting like weirdos. Of course, that'll mean we'll be here for the rest of our lives.”

I imagined Kyra playing with the tea set, picking up a cup and sipping pretend tea from it. “If we're both here, it won't be so bad.”

Ha!
I thought. I lay back on the bed, bending my knees so I could get on it all the way.

Even if my mother and father had one million children, they would always be horrifying me. People thought Mom's talents were modeling and sculpting. People thought Dad's talent was starting computer companies. Well, everyone was wrong. My parents' talent was humiliating
me.
It was their goal in life. And man, if you asked me, they were succeeding.

I needed my list and I needed it now. If I had it in the playhouse with me, I'd write a thing or two. Maybe when things had calmed down
inside—meaning when everyone had left— maybe then I could make a copy of the list and keep it out here. A person could never have too many lists.

“Why, why, why,” I asked the ceiling, “why did she wear that exercise suit? She was bosoms and belly with a pretty face sitting on top.” I squinched my eyes closed at the memory. What had Quinn thought? Now he would never marry me. Rebecca wasn't my worst problem with Quinn. Neither was the ten-year age difference. My mother was my own worst enemy.

“I am twelve years old,” I said, “and my life is stinking over. I'll never be able to show my face in public again. Kyra, Kyra, this is what you have to look forward to.”

I took a deep breath and let out a “wah, wah, wah” sound, trying to cry. If I could just get this off my chest—no, I couldn't say that, because it made me think of Mom's thirty-two longs with the barbell guy—if I could just make myself feel better, I'd… well, feel better.

“Wah, wah, wah,” I said again.

It was then that I saw it. A bit of red that was not a little bird. Why, that was a bit of red that looked a lot like the sleeve of a T-shirt.

I sat up fast, the
wah
all knocked out of me. “Who's there?” I asked.

The sleeve quivered a moment, then moved out of sight of the window.

“Who is peeking in on me?” I said. What nerve! What nerve! How could anyone listen in on me during the darkest hour of my life? How?

I leapt to my feet and nearly knocked myself out on the low ceiling of the playhouse.
Thunk
, went my head.

“Ugh,” I said.

“Are you okay?” came a voice from outside.

“No,” I said. My voice was a moan. “Oh, no.”

Christian appeared in the doorway, stooped over so he could come inside where I staggered about, clutching my head, which was surely gushing blood all over me.

I glanced at him. “Am I bleeding?” I asked.

“Move your hand,” he said.

I did.

“Nope,” he said.

“Are you sure?” And then I said, “How long were you out there? How much did you hear? And hey, wait a minute. You… Christian Sumsion, you were listening in on me.”

Christian raised his eyebrows. “So,” he said.

“So? How can you stand there and say that, all
hunched up in this playhouse? You… deceiver. And I'm injured. Are you sure there's no blood?”

“Deceiver,” Christian said, ignoring my question. “Listening in on a person makes someone a deceiver?”

“Yes it does, it certainly does.” I lowered myself back on the bed. Christian kept standing there all stooped over, blocking the little doorway and the window, too.

“Well.” Christian's voice was a low sound. “Well, well, well.” He took a step toward me, his finger raised a bit. “Even if you listen in on me?”